


I'm Yours

by orphan_account



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-15
Updated: 2010-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-11 16:10:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/114217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So there's this  thing where Spencer is a werewolf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Yours

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: There is one scene near the end of this fic that may be read as dubious consent. That was not actually the intent of the scene at the time I was writing it, but upon later read-through, it caught my attention. At some point I would like to re-write that scene to correct the problem, but until then, a dubious consent warning does apply here.

**TITLE:** I'm Yours  
**WORD COUNT**: 4600-ish  
**RATING: **R  
**SUMMARY:** So there's this thing where Spencer is a werewolf.

  
So there's this thing where Spencer is a werewolf.

It's not a big deal. Some werewolves are born and some werewolves are made, and it can maybe be kind of traumatic for the ones that get turned at some point later in life or whatever, but Spencer was totally born this way and it's just...never been a thing. The guys all know, and Zack, and three nights a month Spencer spends the hours between midnight and seven am as a dog. A big dog, whatever, but he's totally housetrained and it's not like he's some slavering beast. Three nights a month, they avoid afterparties and stick to the bus if they're out on the road, and Spencer gets a lot of petting and scratches behind the ears and sometimes Brendon or Ryan or Jon (just Brendon, now) will go outside and play fetch with him, and Zack thinks it's kind of hilarious to hit human daytime Spencer on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper and say things like, "Bad puppy!"

It's really just not a big deal.

Except for that whole mating-for-life thing.

~

It happens when Spencer is sixteen and stupid, and he's just sitting in his grandmother's garage behind a drumkit when Brent comes in with that kid from his school.

Brendon.

Brendon has stupid, stupid hair, and he bounces all over the place when he talks, which he does a lot and very loudly. He makes stupid jokes and laughs a big stupid laugh, and at one point he does this Gollum impersonation that makes Spencer's entire body cringe with sympathetic humiliation, and then Spencer is the one to tell him, "You're in," and Brendon ducks his head and smiles a quiet beaming smile at his shoes, and for one stupid second when he looks back up at Spencer with enormous shining stupid brown eyes, Spencer looks at him and thinks, _pretty._

That's where the trouble starts.

~

Spencer starts getting sick not long after the Blink tour ends. It's not like having the plague or whatever, he's not wheezing or sneezing or being disgusting and phlegmy or anything. He's just run-down, kind of sleeping a lot and feeling lethargic, and on moon nights he doesn't want to play fetch or run around the yard or do much of anything besides lay around the practice room at Brendon's feet and listen to him play the piano.

Brendon is worried, Spencer can tell, although he at least makes a token effort at hiding it. He knows Spencer likes the piano, though, and from midnight to seven am on those three nights, he stays wide awake and he plays.

Spencer lays at his feet, quietly grateful, and lets Brendon pet him when the mood strikes.

~

People don't _actually_ fall in love in a heartbeat.

Spencer isn't in _love _with Brendon from the moment he first sees that smile, that's not how the real world works. It's just a seed, a flick of a switch in Spencer's head that puts Brendon in a different category from everybody else. It's a germ of an idea, of possibility. Of _potential._

He's not in love with Brendon when they have those first band practices together, when Brendon takes over on lead vocals, when Brendon moves out of his parents' house and into his shitty little apartment where it always smells like mold and dumpster. He's not in love with Brendon when Pete Wentz signs them, or when they pile their things in the van to drive to Maryland, and he might be in love with him by the time they finish recording, but it isn't because of any one magical moment.

Falling in love is a _process._ It's a process made up of stupid jokes and strawberry smoothies, of musical talent and determination and hard work, of cheerful smiles and quiet bravery and endless annoying chatter about nothing in particular. It's a process made up of enthusiasm and dorkiness and generosity and _time._

It's a process that has thoroughly fucked Spencer over, and he didn't even notice it happening until it was too late.

~

Spencer is pretty sure that Brendon thinks he's having separation anxiety.

The most telling sign is the way Brendon keeps staring at Spencer, concern written in every crease of his forehead, and then disappearing somewhere without a word, only for Spencer's phone to start buzzing a few minutes later with a text from Ryan or Jon, just "checking in." Spencer would think it was funny if he weren't too fucking tired to bother laughing.

He thinks about calling Haley again. He's been thinking about it a lot lately. She'll never be the One, but it helped, having someone to focus his attention on, someone to focus their attention on him. It was nice, for what it was, and he'd probably perk up quite a bit in the short term. He could put the inevitable off a lot longer that way, at least.

It's not fair, though. Not to Haley, and not to Spencer either, not that it really matters.

Besides, he's too fucking tired to bother with that, too.

~

He's known about the mate thing since he was ten. That's when his mom sat him down and gave him a talk - not the sex talk, thank god, but one that was just as embarrassing and even more important - and explained about how someday, when Spencer was much older (ha, mom), he would meet someone that he would love very, very much. That person would become Spencer's whole entire world, and it was very important for Spencer to choose wisely, because a werewolf's health, happiness, and general well-being are so enmeshed within the lifemate bond that once it's established, some werewolves literally can't live without it. It had all sounded terribly romantic at the time. Spencer won't ever admit this to anyone, but he spent the next year and a half envisioning himself as Disney's Beast, imagining some vague hazy Belle hovering somewhere in his future, waiting to break the curse so that Spencer could live happily ever after.

Not that being a werewolf is, or ever was, a curse. It's actually a pretty good time, especially as a cub. But logic has no place in a ten-year-old's daydreams. His other favorite daydream at that time featured himself as a werewolf crimefighter, solving mysteries and killing bad guys three nights a month, between midnight and seven am. Whatever, he was _ten._

The point is, the mating-for-life thing doesn't come as a surprise, like, in _theory._ The fact that he's somehow managed to mate himself to _Brendon_, without ever even so much as a kiss - that part is a surprise.

~

Another month comes and goes. Spencer spends his moon nights on a soft bed of pillows and blankets on the practice room floor. His body aches, and he drifts in and out of sleep the whole time.

Brendon plays and plays, and on the morning after the third night, Spencer wakes up human again and finds Brendon slumped over, asleep on his precious piano. It's the first time he's seen Brendon sleep at all in days.

Spencer wakes him up to send him off to bed, but Brendon just blinks hazily at him for a moment, and reaches up to brush his fingers over the swollen, tender circles under Spencer's eyes. He looks small, and fragile. Spencer can't even imagine what _he _must look like.

Brendon helps Spencer to his own bed and gets him settled under his blankets, and Spencer means to remind him to go and get some sleep himself, but he falls asleep before he has a chance to.

When he wakes up, Brendon is curled up on the edge of his bed, wide-awake and watching Spencer sleep.

~

The moment of realization is pretty mundane, as far as it goes. They're back from Maryland, cooling their heels a little bit while they wait for the insanity of touring life to begin, and Brendon is quietly submitting to a whole slew of behind-the-scenes makeover shit, because he has to front the band and apparently Pete doesn't envision a market for shaggy bowl-cuts and dorky glasses, and one day he turns up at Spencer's for pizza and video games with Brent and Ryan, and Spencer opens the door and the Brendon on the other side hardly even resembles the dorky dude Spencer knows. He has bright-red glasses frames and a weird little pixie-looking haircut and a lavender hoodie with girl jeans, and Spencer thinks, _holy shit, he got hot, _and the resulting flare of possessive irritation catches him entirely off guard.

He doesn't _want _Brendon to be hot. He doesn't want other people to want him.

Spencer grips the doorknob very, very tightly, and tells himself it isn't true. Brendon is a recovering _Mormon._ Spencer can't have him, can't _ever _have him, so he can't be in love with him either or else Spencer will _die._ It's as simple as that.

Brendon brushes past him with kind of a weird look, and Spencer smells cheap laundry detergent and expensive shampoo and he wants to...touch, or--kiss, or _something._ He wants it so much it makes his fingers twitch and his lips tingle.

He's so fucking screwed.

~

"Is it Ryan?"

Spencer looks up, blinking owlishly. He's been laying on the couch, staring at the ceiling, pretty much since he woke up. It's been about forty-five minutes by now. He's thinking about maybe taking a nap.

"Is it _Ryan?"_ Brendon demands again. He's sitting on the edge of the coffee table, staring intensely at Spencer. Spencer frowns.

"Is _what _Ryan?"

"This." Brendon waves a helpless hand. His face is as pale and drawn as Spencer's, these days; he's genuinely sick with worry. Spencer feels awful for causing it. "The...it's the mate thing, right? The separation thing? So. Is it, you know...Ryan?"

Spencer stares at him for a moment that feels like eternity, and then his hands are over his face and he's laughing - a low, rusty sound, because Spencer hasn't maybe laughed so much just lately, but it's there now. He's laughing now, just snickering at first and then it just grows and grows until he's exhausted and half-hysterical on the couch, and Brendon has dropped to his knees on the floor and looks like he's ready to cry.

"Stop, _stop _it," he's saying, frantic and shaky. "Fuck, _fuck, _are you - Spencer, you can't be dying, okay? Oh my god, please, you can't be dying. Do I need to get him? I can get him, right now - the thing with Z, it isn't _serious, _he won't -"

"Brendon," Spencer manages, getting control of himself as he sees how close Brendon actually is to falling apart. "Dude. It isn't Ryan. I promise, okay?"

Brendon looks uncertain. "But it _is _the mate thing," he says awkwardly. "Jon? But...Cassie."

Spencer sighs, and wishes, not for the first time, that Brendon hadn't always been so curious about werewolves, and that Spencer's mom was a little less eager to answer questions about it. Brendon shouldn't even know about the mate thing. Spencer hadn't realized he _did _know quite that much.

"I'm not going to die," he tells Brendon, as soothingly as he can. He's almost sure he's not lying. It's been years, this thing with Brendon, and he certainly hasn't died _yet._ The odds of that changing now are awfully slim. It helps just to be close to him, even if he can't actually _have _him. Spencer had actually expected moving in with him to solve the problem entirely, but the pull has only gotten stronger. Maybe he should move back out. Maybe this is happening because he fucked with the status quo.

That doesn't make sense either, though, because this didn't start until recently, and he's been living here for almost a year now. Fuck, Spencer doesn't even know anymore.

Brendon doesn't look reassured. He looks tired, and scared, and...kind of hurt?

"Why won't you just tell me?" he asks, and Spencer swallows thickly.

"Because there's nothing to tell," he lies.

Brendon stares at him for another endless moment, then stands up and walks out of the room.

Spencer feels something inside his chest ache hollowly, but he's physically incapable of getting up and going after him.

He turns over until he's flat on his back, and closes his eyes.

~

There's a point, okay, when the girl groupies start being occasionally interspersed with _boy _groupies, when Brendon starts flirting indiscriminately with people of both sexes, when the entire gay circus that is _Circus_ is going on, there's a point when Spencer thinks, _maybe, maybe._

He tries once, and only once, to test the waters a little. Waits for a drunken tour-wide game of Truth or Dare and deliberately dares Ryan to make out with Jon. He knows Ryan, and Ryan is a predictable little fucker, and when he finishes blushing and glaring and making out with Jon, he is going to seek revenge in the most obvious possible way - namely, by daring Spencer to make out with Brendon.

It works perfectly, and Brendon laughs tipsily, sheepish and delighted, and Spencer gets so fucking high on one little kiss that he feels like his skin can't contain it. Jesus _Christ, _his mother's emotionally-scarring lecture was obviously right on the money - Brendon's kiss alone could make Spencer come, he's sure of it.

Laughter and jeering and catcalls around them pull Spencer back to himself enough to function, and Brendon looks dazed and a little dreamy when Spencer pulls back, and something in Spencer's chest is positively _flying, _and that's pretty much when it all falls apart, because two rounds later Brendon gets dared to give a lapdance to the person on the bus he'd most like to get naked with, and Brendon bounds to his feet and starts shaking his ass at _Ryan._

Ryan flushes and glares, and shouts of laughter and applause break out everywhere, and if there was ever a chance for Spencer to die of a broken heart or whatever the fuck, this is the moment it would have happened.

He doesn't die. And he doesn't ever try again.

~

"Is it Ian?" Brendon demands, when Spencer manages to drag himself into the kitchen a few days later. "It's Ian, isn't it?"

Spencer stares. "Brendon," he says slowly. "Why in the _fuck _would it be Ian?"

Brendon deflates. "It started after the tour," he says uncertainly. "And I was just really hoping it wasn't Dallon, because Dallon is married, and -"

Spencer closes his eyes. "It's not Ian. It's not Dallon. It's not Ryan or Jon, it wasn't ever Haley, it sure as fuck isn't Zack. Can we just lay off this, please?"

Brendon's shoulders are tight. "I miss you," he says grimly. "I miss you, and you're never awake anymore, and I'm fucking _worried, _Spencer, you can't tell me this is normal, you're...you're fading _away, _and I don't know what to do or how to _fix _it!"

Spencer shuffles across the kitchen and drags Brendon into a hug. Brendon melts all over him, hiding his face in Spencer's neck, and Spencer breathes in deep and squeezes tight and feels better than he has in a long time.

Brendon clings, and doesn't let go.

~

Ryan is the only one Spencer ever tells.

He doesn't even so much _tell _him as...kind of lets him figure it out, and doesn't deny it when Ryan asks.

It happens in the cabin, and it's not like Spencer is mooning or staring or being really obvious or anything. It's just that Ryan has been around for almost every single moon night since Spencer was five years old, and there's no hiding the way Spencer never wanders far from Brendon's side anymore during wolf-time. He just wants to be close, wants to smell Brendon and feel Brendon's hands in his fur, and lick Brendon's face when they're wrestling on the floor. It's the only time he can have those things without anyone thinking twice about it, and he can't bring himself to stay away.

"So, you're pretty much Brendon's dog these days, huh?" Ryan says neutrally, on the morning after the second night one month. Spencer is in the kitchen, grabbing something to eat before he heads for bed.

Spencer doesn't look up from his sandwich, and doesn't say anything.

"Wow," Ryan says softly. "Does he know?"

Brendon bounds into the kitchen, ruffles Ryan's hair and pokes Spencer in the side, stealing half his sandwich and leaping backwards out of reach before Spencer can snatch it back. He laughs, loud and obnoxious, takes a huge bite and then opens his mouth with his food half-chewed inside it, sticking out his tongue at Spencer and ignoring the disgusting pieces of PBJ that fall out of his mouth and land on the floor.

"Huh," mumbles Ryan, after Brendon disappears with a last triumphant wave of his stolen food. He's staring at Spencer, not at the door where Brendon disappeared, and Spencer flushes when he realizes he's smiling kind of stupidly at the doorway.

They don't say anything else about it, but that night Spencer flops down on the couch with his head on Brendon's leg and whines in his throat to beg for scratches, and he doesn't care that Ryan is watching when Brendon's hand comes down on his head.

~

Waking up to find Ryan in his bedroom shouldn't be surprising, but it kind of is. They haven't seen much of each other since the band split, and while they do text fairly often, Spencer's been too tired lately to send much more than smiley faces and _LOL_s.

He should have known Brendon would call for outside assistance.

"I told Brendon," Ryan says without preamble.

Spencer's stomach freezes, and he sits up sharp and sudden. "What. Ryan. _What."_

Ryan stares at him evenly. "You're a fucking _asshole,_" he says, and his delivery is flat but his eyes are hard and fierce. "You could have fucking _died, _you _chicken shit _son of a bitch."

"You _told _him - " Spencer can't get past that part. He feels like throwing up.

"Fuck you," says Ryan, and leaves the room.

~

The band split really is about the music. Spencer doesn't want to play the fucking tambourine, and he doesn't like how narrow Ryan and Jon have become in their musical tastes. He misses the chaotic originality of _Fever, _and he likes that Brendon's music is designed to be _fun - _fun to listen to, and fun to _play, _and Ryan was always kind of too intense to really think about music as "fun." Spencer stays with Brendon, and it really is about the music.

Ryan and Jon don't even ask him to join them, though, and Spencer knows it's because Ryan thinks he'd stay no matter what, that he'd never leave Brendon because of...everything else.

Spencer never brings it up, never argues the issue and explains the truth, but only because he suspects that Ryan maybe isn't so far off the mark. It hurts to watch Ryan and Jon walk away, but Spencer can't _imagine _leaving Brendon.

He got lucky, because it didn't end up that way, so he never had to think too much about it. But deep down, he thinks even if he _hated _Brendon's music, he probably still would have stayed.

~

Spencer wakes up naked and disoriented and halfway to coming all over himself.

And all over Brendon, who is...also naked, and on top of Spencer.

"What the fuck?" he chokes out, and gasps as Brendon rolls his hips, sliding a thigh between Spencer's legs.

"Shut up," says Brendon fiercely. "This is what you need."

"No," Spencer tries to say, because he doesn't want this, doesn't want it like _this, _but Brendon's mouth is hot and open against the skin of Spencer's neck, and his hip is grinding down onto Spencer's cock, and he smells like soap and sweat and Brendon, and fuck, if he'd just kiss Spencer _once, _Spencer thinks he might never stop coming. He's never felt anything like this, like the way his skin sparks and tingles everywhere Brendon's body touches him; like the way his pulse is hammering in his ears and he's already out of breath and _almost-there, _even though Brendon is actually still trying to settle himself in place on top of Spencer. He almost can't take it, can't contain the force of it, and his hips are grinding up even as he tries to find the words to make this stop. "Brendon, no, I don't want -"

Brendon stills, and lifts his head to stare fiercely down at Spencer. "You don't want me?" he demands.

Spencer flushes hot. "I - of course I want you," he mumbles, still breathing heavily. "But not like this, not - I don't want...because of -"

Brendon sets his jaw. "We have a lot to talk about," he says sharply. "But not until after I make you _stop dying._ So shut up."

And he slides his mouth over Spencer's, slick and wet and open, and Spencer's eyes roll back as a shiver rolls over his entire body. Fuck, fuck, so close already. _So close._

"Nnrgh," Brendon whimpers, and he's suddenly trembling on top of Spencer, seemingly as undone as Spencer is by the force of one little kiss. His tongue sweeps out shakily to brush along Spencer's lower lip, and Spencer's arms fly up to grip him by the hips, his back arching as he groans into Brendon's mouth. Fuck, he can't take this. He can't _take _this.

Everything gets sort of blurry and hazy, and it probably lasts literally seconds after that. They don't even get around to handjobs - they just rub off clumsily against each other, sweaty and uncoordinated, and then Spencer sucks on Brendon's tongue and they're both groaning loud and shocked as they come all over each other's stomachs. It's bright-hot and wildly intense and lasts longer than any other orgasm Spencer has ever experienced, and he's a boneless heap at the end of it all, unable to move and unwilling to try. Brendon sprawls over him in much the same condition.

Spencer tries to remember how to breathe, but he falls asleep again before he's sure he's getting it right.

~

It's worse when Brendon has actual relationships than when he's single and fucking around. Spencer feels bad for thinking it, but in that way at least, he's sort of lucky. Brendon's relationships are few and far between, and sort of epically doomed from the word go anyway, so there's never much risk they'll last too long.

Sarah is the worst, because she's the one that almost makes it. It gets serious for awhile, and Spencer isn't a _real _wolf, but he'd still like to rip her throat out. It's too bad, because he actually likes her, when he's able to see her objectively as a human being, instead of as Brendon's girlfriend through a film of red in his eyes.

When the thing with Sarah ends, Brendon spends two morose weeks moping in his bedroom. Spencer breathes easier than has in fucking months. He sings in the shower, and whistles in the grocery store, and hums while he cooks his dinner.

He's a shitty person and a shitty friend.

But at least he doesn't have to kill anybody.

~

  
He wakes up feeling more refreshed than he's felt in months. He's also stiflingly hot and his ribcage is being crushed under the weight of Brendon's body still stretched out on top of him. He never wants to move.

Brendon's fingers are clenching and unclenching against Spencer's sides, and the silence is stretching out between them, awkward and uncomfortable before Spencer finally speaks.

"It. Uh." He clears his throat. "It's been you for awhile," he finally admits awkwardly. He figures that's probably pretty obvious by now, but Brendon at least deserves to have heard it from him, rather than just secondhand from Ryan. "I'm...y'know. Sorry you had to find out like this."

Brendon shifts restlessly on his chest. "Would you ever have told me yourself?"

Spencer swallows, and doesn't say anything.

"You're an idiot and an asshole," Brendon says quietly. His forehead is buried in Spencer's neck, the words muffled against the skin of Spencer's chest. "I can't believe how stupid you are. Seriously. So fucking stupid."

Spencer stays silent, and just lets him talk.

"You could have died," Brendon says tightly. "You could have _died, _because you were so fucking stupid."

That, Spencer can't help but respond to. "I never wanted you to...save me. I didn't want you like that. Like this."

Brendon hisses a breath. "Fuck you," he says. "You - fuck you. You don't get to make assumptions, you don't get to start telling me what my motives are -"

"Don't try to tell me you wouldn't fuck me to keep me from dying," Spencer says stiffly. "You're a fucking liar if you try to say that, and we both know it."

Brendon tightens his grip on Spencer, almost to the point of pain. "What I would have done isn't the point," he says fiercely. "You didn't even _ask _me, didn't - didn't even _try, _and I -"

"I'm sorry," says Spencer. He isn't, really, except maybe he kind of is, because he knows he scared the hell out of Brendon and maybe...maybe they can work something out, maybe they can go back to normal and just - _have _this every once in awhile, and it can be something that they just do, something they can do and enjoy and then go back to the way things are supposed to be, and Spencer is ready to admit that it's pretty stupid to let yourself get that sick - he's still not ready to call it almost _dying, _Brendon is a drama queen - just because you're stubborn and don't want to consider all the alternatives. His chest aches a little, but this...this can still be okay. Brendon is still here.

"I'm so fucking mad at you," Brendon says shakily.

"I'm sorry, Brendon," Spencer says again, and this time he means it. "I'm sorry I scared you."

"I don't understand why you thought I wouldn't want you," says Brendon. He sounds genuinely confused, under all the trembling anger. "I don't actually know how much more obvious I could have been. _Years, _Spencer. I don't--"

Spencer's pulse is suddenly racing. "What," he says, his lips numb. "What."

Brendon lifts his head and stares down at Spencer. "I want you," he says, slowly and clearly. "I want you to be in my stupid band, and I want you to live in my stupid house, and I want to be your stupid _mate, _and whatever the _hell _we just did earlier, I want to do that again. A lot. All the fucking time, I actually wish we were doing it again right _now._ Are you getting all of this? Because I fucking hate you, okay, and if you ever scare me like this again I will kill you _myself, _but right now we're naked and I mostly just want to be kissing you. Do you think you can handle that?"

"Brendon," Spencer croaks. "Brendon...do you even know what you're - this. It's. It's like, _forever, _it's -"

Brendon rolls his eyes. "You're so _fucking stupid,_" he says, exasperated, and then he bends his head and licks into Spencer's mouth, and Spencer's entire body is already tingling with fear and desperation and something that might be the beginnings of blinding fucking joy, and the slide of Brendon's tongue into his mouth is almost too much. He whines, opening his mouth and clutching at Brendon, and there is _so much skin, _all bare and slippery and sliding together, and Spencer's eyes roll back as his body trembles.

They're not done talking. Brendon's still pissed, and there's a lot of shit to figure out between them before everything's all on the table, but right now, Spencer can't think about any of that. He groans and shivers and slides his thigh up between Brendon's legs, chasing Brendon's tongue back into his mouth.

They can figure everything else out later. Right now he's happy, and naked, and tangled up in Brendon, and Spencer's not interested in talking anymore. He's got better things to do.

~

End.

__   
**I'm Yours**   



End file.
